Unfinished
by Totally-Out-Of-It
Summary: Hunters kidnap Stiles because of his involvement with the McCall pack. Derek rescues him but it may be too late. For both of them. Based on the fanart Never Finished by silvermittt and inspired by a fanart/manip of that fanart by solidsender on tumblr.


**Unfinished**

_Hunters kidnap Stiles because of his involvement with the McCall pack. Derek rescues him but it may be too late. For both of them. Based on the fanart __**Never Finished**__ by silvermittt and inspired by a fanart/manip of that fanart by solidsender on tumblr. Visit this story on AO3 for links.  
_

...

...

Derek hated hunters.

Goddamn hunters with their godforsaken code. _We hunt those who hunt us_. Bullshit. He hated their stupid backward logic to justify their actions. He hated their damn weapons covered in wolfsbane and made of ash tree bark. He hated their blind, single minded determination to do whatever it took to eliminate a threat.

Stiles wasn't a threat. He was human. Hunters should never have looked at him twice. He was the McCall pack's second. Scott didn't make a decision without first consulting Stiles unless he absolutely had to, but still. Stiles was human. Fragile, weak, perfect, human.

Derek gasped into the leaves on the mushy forest floor, closing his eyes against the rain splattering toward his face. He pushed himself up, not giving himself time to rest, ignoring the sharp stabbing pain from the wolfsbane tipped arrows in his back.

"Almost...almost there," he panted, looking down at his companion collapsed next to him. The younger male was face down in the leaves like Derek had been, but he wasn't pushing himself up. "Stiles?"

Derek rolled Stiles over onto his back and leaned over his face to keep the rain away. Stiles' eyes were barely cracked open, staring but not seeing. His frantic breathing had been reduced to faint wheezing inhales through cracked and broken lips.

"Stiles," Derek said, hands coming up to frame the human's face. Stiles either didn't hear him or didn't have the strength to respond. "Look at me. Look at me, Stiles."

He could hear a dog bark in the distance, the mutt the hunters had trained to run towards a wolf instead of away. His eyes flashed blue, thinking about the teeth marks on Stiles' left shoe and ankle. He had to tamp down on the rage building inside, had to focus. The hunters were close but the rain would provide some cover. They had to keep moving, get to Scott's house, where Melissa was waiting with years of nursing experience; where Deaton and Stiles had put up protection charms and defenses against humans and the supernatural alike.

"Stiles!" Derek half shouted, his voice growling beneath the words.

Brown eyes widened, pupils blown larger than necessary in the night, and focused on him. "D-d-d-d," Stiles tried to say, but couldn't get his mouth to form the word.

Derek pushed down his relief and his worry. He drew from the memory of his mother and Laura and Scott, how they were as alphas, how he had been as an alpha. Take control, don't let the situation control you. He nodded.

"We've got to keep moving. Scott's house isn't far but we're still in danger. I need you to get up. I can't carry you," he admitted through grit teeth.

Stiles managed half a nod and got his elbows up on either side of him. They dug into the mud when he pressed down for a moment, and then he let himself fall back flat with a wheeze. He didn't meet Derek's eyes again, but he gave a short negative shake of his head. He couldn't get up.

Derek wasn't sure if the world was being blurred by the rain or if the wolfsbane was making him woozy. He _was_ certain that the dark color on Stiles' pale lips was blood though; watched it drip down his wet cheeks before it was washed away by the falling rain. Stiles' breathing was beginning to sound whiny, labored.

Dammit. Why Stiles? Why not Derek? Or Kira? Or Isaac? Or Lydia? Why did the hunters have to grab the only member of the pack without supernatural abilities?

Derek reached behind him and grabbed one of the arrows stuck in his back. Even just shifting the arrow by touching the shaft made Derek whine low in his throat, but he had to get it out. He forced himself to rip the weapon from his skin, then had to brace himself on his fists on either side of Stiles' head while he gasped wetly through the pain. He wasn't healing. The wolfsbane was in his system even though the arrow was gone. There were three other arrows scattered across his back but Derek didn't try to remove them. Already he felt like he was about to pass out.

But he couldn't. He had to get Stiles to Scott and his mom. They had to save him. Melissa could set his arm, bandage his leg and ankle and foot, clean his lips, clear the fever, stop the bleeding. And if she couldn't, then Scott was the only one who could turn him. Stiles had never asked for the bite, had turned it down once, but if it was the only way to save him? Derek was glad he was no longer an alpha because he wasn't sure how he would react, given that power of choice for Stiles.

Derek blinked the water from his eyes and then frowned down at Stiles. Stiles whose eyes had fallen shut, whose heartbeat was slowing.

"Stiles!" he shouted.

This couldn't happen. Derek couldn't let this happen. He'd spent so long without a proper pack, a pack that felt like home. He couldn't lose that again. Not Stiles. Not Stiles. Not Stiles.

His howl echoed even through the rain, an S.O.S. into the night. He couldn't carry Stiles, he barely had the strength to keep himself off the ground. His own breathing was rough, a whining growl in every puff. The dog's bark was drawing nearer as the world around Derek tunneled.

Derek kept himself up with one arm and cupped the back of Stiles' head with the other. Stiles' heartbeat was faint, fading. He was already pale and cold from blood loss and the rain. Derek wasn't much better off after his ill-advised rescue attempt. He couldn't feel the arrows in his back anymore, though his body felt like it was on fire.

"Don't die on me," Derek said, his own voice sounding far away. "I'm not finished with you yet. I still need to-"

Even with the rain pelting down on them, crashing loudly into bark and leaf and dirt, with the dog barking and the faint sounds of boots thumping ever closer, Derek was acutely aware of the silence in Stiles' chest. It cut through his words more efficiently than any rant Stiles' had begun in his life. Pain welled up in Derek's chest, completely unrelated to the metal and wood sticking out of his back.

"No," he breathed out. "Stiles." He used the hand on Stiles' head to give the smaller male a slight shake. "Stiles. _Stiles_."

Derek took a deep breath, feeling panic pour into every bit of him still conscious through the poison. His heart rate jumped to an unhealthy rate and he couldn't get any air into his lungs.

"SCOTT!" he shouted, half a name and half another desperate howl. He didn't care if the hunters found him. He needed help. He needed help right now.

The boots and dog were closer than ever. Derek's panic twisted into the all too familiar feeling of rage. It burned his insides like the poison stealing his strength. He felt the shift take over, felt his claws and his fangs and knew he was sprouting fur and gaining pointed ears. He looked up with glowing blue eyes to the forest around him, looking for the enemy.

Fucking Hunters.

No more running. He was going to tear them all to shreds. It was all their fault. Everything was because of hunters. They thought they could steal from Derek? Never again. Not this. Not Stiles. They would pay for this. Derek would take it out of their hides, decorate their outsides with their insides, crush their fragile bones and finally follow through on his threat to rip out a throat with his teeth. Or eight throats.

But even as his anger built, the rational part of Derek knew it was impossible. He was getting weaker by the second. He couldn't fight off one hunter right now, let alone eight of them. His growling was broken briefly by a single sob and he looked to Stiles' face once more.

A human face, bloody and bruised. Derek's claws caught on Stiles' hair, soft and muddy, as he gave Stiles another shake. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. He didn't even care if Stiles opened his eyes, just give him a heartbeat.

He couldn't hear anything anymore. Was it still raining? How close were the hunters? He needed to protect Stiles. Protect that goofy smile, the inane chatter, that stupid blue Jeep, those ugly plaid shirts.

His world was blackening around the edges. He was having trouble thinking straight. Someone was supposed to come help. Weren't they? He needed to get up. He needed to fight, to keep moving. There was blood everywhere, red and black. Derek collapsed onto the body beneath him, his face next to Stiles' neck.

"Stiles."

He needed to move, but it smelled like home.

...

...

_fin._


End file.
